


Troubled Mind

by Bennie133



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Greg Lestrade, gender bend, rating for the mention of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12558944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennie133/pseuds/Bennie133
Summary: First impressions are not always the greatest. But, sometimes, in the end, the first meeting doesn't always matter.





	Troubled Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I thought I was done writing for the Sherlock fandom. I never posted any of the Sherlock fics online before, since many were based off of RPs my friend and I were doing, but after seeing this as a WIP in my folders, I just had to finish. I figured I might as well share this with you all. Hope you enjoy it!

Mycroft was dumbfounded. He had never met an honest police officer who stood for what they believed in, and actually challenged him. He was the government to them, even if he honestly really didn't have as much control as everyone thought he did. Normally they would close their idiotic little mouths and _do what he told them to_ , and that's what he _liked_. So when he met the DI Lestrade, well, she gave his little world quite the spin.

 

The first time that Mycroft met DI Lestrade, she had still been the Mrs, and not the Ms. She had called him after getting his number out of a high Sherlock who had crashed her scene, struggling to keep his words coherent as he solved the case right in front of them, helping them lock up the villain. Lestrade had still arrested him, and contacted Mycroft on his behalf since he was baked. Mycroft came to the Yard immediately, scowling as he walked in.

Lestrade had glanced up as a man in a suit had walked in, and she glanced towards the Holmes boy. “Are you Mycroft?” She asked, eyeing him a bit. He was somewhat handsome, and he dressed well, but for some reason, she got a feeling about him...

“Yes. I do believe my brother has been... a bit of trouble.” He said quietly, voice a bit cold. Lestrade's brows furrowed a bit, and she shrugged.

“He solved a case. He was useful. He's a genius, really. I just don't get how someone with a mind like that is sitting in my cell, baked from heroin and probably some other things as well. Haven't been able to take a sample, yet.” She said, giving a look to Mycroft.

“Perhaps.” Is all Mycroft answered with, and he almost smirked at her annoyed look of not really getting much of a response. Almost. His mother taught him manners, however, unlike most of these crude people. He handed her a pristine piece of paper from a folder, “If you wouldn't mind fetching him, I must be taking him home.”

“What makes you think that yo-”

Mycroft immediately cut her off, “Read the paper, and you will have your answer. Now, my brother.” He insisted, his tone bordering an order. He wanted to leave and get out of here, then criticize his brother, try to set him straight.

Lestrade glowered, then looked at the paper. Was he serious?! “You disgust me.” She said with a stuck up nose, before walking over to the keys, grabbing them from the desk and going to Sherlock's cell, “Your brother is here.”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade with a uncaring look, “Tell him I’ll be staying here.” He answered, his body completely void of movement.

Mycroft appeared at the entrance of the cell, looking at him. “Get up, I am taking you home.” He said without any hesitation in his voice, an order. “Do not cause yourself further embarrassment.”

Lestrade frowned. If Sherlock didn't want to go home with him, then he didn't have to, did he? He was a legal adult.

“I'm not going with you.” Sherlock huffed, turning to face the other way, staring at the wall as if it could entertain him.

“Sherlock Holmes, get up.” Mycroft ordered, calculating eyes on him. He knew in a few seconds he would get up once he realized that once more Mycroft would wait until he came with him.

“Listen, if he doesn't want to go with you, then he doesn't have to.” Lestrade said, “You can't make him go anywhere with you if he doesn't want.” She said, crossing her arms.

Mycroft turned his attention to her, “He is my brother, DI, so kindly keep to your own business.”

“As far as I am concerned, he's still in my jail.” She answered immediately without batting an eye. “And he's a free man, so his big bad brother can't tell him to do anything.”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade with amusement in his eyes, “I'll go home with her if she takes me.” He said, wondering how irate he could make his brother.

Mycroft's head snapped toward Sherlock, “You cannot be serious.”

Sherlock nodded, then looked to Lestrade. “What do you say?”

Lestrade looked between the brothers. Sherlock was an interesting character, but she really didn't like the look of Mycroft. Within seconds she grabbed her over jacket and shrugged it on, “Let's go. I'm almost off anyway, I'll just clock off a few minutes early.” She murmured, nodding to Sherlock. She eyed Mycroft as if asking him to challenge her. If the man she had arrested was going to get out free because of his disgusting brother's dirty politician hands, then she was at least going to make sure he was fine when he got home.

 

That was the first impression from both Mycroft and Lestrade. While Mycroft had been annoyed and anxious about his brother, he was also surprised by the young hot blooded DI, who obviously hadn't been a DI for too long, though she had the ability. Lestrade, however, loathed him. He was another stuck up politician, and she didn't feel he would ever be trustworthy.

 

Several years passed, and Mycroft rarely ever even saw the DI, although a few times he saw her name in the headlines because of cases that had been solved, his brothers name mentioned a few times as well. Since Mycroft kept tabs on everyone Sherlock knew, he had since learned that Gregg Lestrade had become a single woman, her partner having cheated on her countless times. She had grown into her career quite well, and also became someone who Sherlock had relied on other than Mycroft in his time of needs. Mycroft would say Lestrade and Sherlock had a unique relationship, and each was very fond of each other, though in a parent child like way.

So when the DI called his personal cellular, he could honestly say he was surprised. “Holmes speaking.” He answered, jotting a few things down and signing his name on a few papers placed on his desk, phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Sherlock's OD'd. He's in the hospital right now hooked up to an HIV. Thought you might like to know. Charing Cross Hospital.” She informed, then hanging up the phone before Mycroft even had the opportunity to say anything.

Mycroft stood up quickly, knocking his chair down. After a few seconds he had fixed it and was on his way out, getting into one of his black vehicles and making his driver speed the whole way there. Once he reached the hospital he walked inside in a calm manner, asked which room his baby brother was in, then made his way.

When Mycroft walked in, he was greeted with the pale and sickly thin Sherlock, with Lestrade holding his hand, staring intently at his face. “He was passed out in the bathroom of his flat, half way on the tub, half off.” She said, not even looking at Mycroft. “I haven't been able to get him to eat much lately, and what he has eaten, I'm thinking he's thrown up. He's skinnier than he should be.” She said, running a hand through her hair.

Mycroft sat down on the chair next to her, crossing a leg over the other, then staring at him. “I made sure to get rid of his normal drug dealers anywhere near his home, and I've kept surveillance on him. I don't know where he keeps getting it, and it isn't in his flat.” Mycroft informed her. “There is not much more I can do to stop this from happening.”

Silence filled the room other than the beep beep from the hospital machines, and the steady rise and fall as small breaths were heard from Sherlock. Lestrade looked to Mycroft, “I'm not going to blame you for this, but perhaps instead of invading on his privacy, he might do better if you would act more like a normal brother, Mycroft. If you were physically there and supportive of him, instead of remaining aloof and unattached.” She said, glancing at him.

Mycroft scowled, “Neither Sherlock or myself are fond of... emotions. They are a deadly thing to have, Lestrade, and Sherlock understands that.”

Lestrade quickly turned to him, “Maybe that's because you haven’t been compassionate enough! I can't think of anything that would drive him to do these things.” She said, the worry and concern showing clear in her eyes.

Mycroft forced himself to remain calm as always, “Sometimes, there does not have to be a driving force, Lestrade, and do not forget that.” He said, almost a bit waspishly. “Have you thought that perhaps we had been fine before his escapade?” He questioned.

Lestrade fell silent, “I apologize... I'm simply worried.” She said softly, almost a whisper as she resumed looking to Sherlock, waiting for him to wake up.

Mycroft frowned, “As am I.”

Silence once more lingered over the room; however, nothing broke that trance that it had taken over with. The two hardly even spared each other a look. At some point, Lestrade had fallen asleep in her chair, head resting on the bed, almost like how it was in all the shows everyone watched growing up.

 

Later on, Lestrade slowly sat up, yawning a bit. There was a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and no Mycroft to be seen. “He's gone home.” Sherlock informed her. “After berating me. Honestly, you shouldn't have told him.” Lestrade was about to make a remark when Sherlock continued in his speaking, “Also, you're hurting my hand. I think I've lost circulation considering you haven't let go once.”

Lestrade flushed a bit, “Sorry.” She replied sheepishly, letting go of his hand, before a more serious look took over her features, “What were you thinking? You could have died if I hadn't found you.”

Sherlock hummed, “But you did.” He answered, closing his eyes. “And you always have, so I haven't any need to worry.” he answered with a yawn. His eyes flicked open, “Can you get a nurse to bring me some jello? The red kind?” He asked with innocent eyes.

Lestrade wanted to berate him herself, but after looking at him and those damned pleading eyes, she resigned herself to save it for a later date and began to search for a nurse to point her to the cafeteria or to get food for him.

The next time Mycroft had an actual chance to talk to the DI, it had been after Sherlock had met John, and they both were leaving the Christmas party. Mycroft looked over to see Lestrade trying to wave down a cab, before sighing. “Perhaps I could offer you a ride home?” He offered to her.

Lestrade stared at him a moment before nodding, “Yeah, that would be great.” She replied, “Thanks, mate.”

Mycroft nodded, and being the gentleman he was, he opened the door and allowed for her to slide in before climbing in his self. He told the driver the address, and Lestrade looked at him strangely. “Don't tell me you honestly know where I live?”

Mycroft's brows furrowed, “Of course I know where you live. I do not want Sherlock getting himself into more trouble than normal, so I always do background checks.”

Lestrade simply sighed, “I should have known.” She muttered mainly to herself, shaking her head. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes for a moment, stifling a yawn. “Alright, then, if you know where I live, it's only fair that I know where you live.” She said with a slight smirk.

Mycroft eyed her wearily a moment before telling her his address. Lestrade just stared, mouth open, “That's expensive over there!” She breathed, “Christ, I shouldn't be so surprised.”

Mycroft just shrugged, “Expensive or not, it's where my home is.” He answered, crossing a leg over. He looked out a window, his reflexes kicking in and twirling his umbrella. Lestrade felt the silence almost literally lingering in the air, quite awkwardly, and so she too looked out a window.

When Lestrade arrived at her flat, Mycroft walked out with her and lead her to the building door. He bade her goodnight when Lestrade just laughed a little, shaking her head. “You shouldn't have walked me to the door.” She answered, pointing up to the mistletoe.

Mycroft frowned, “It's a silly tradition, we don't have to partake of it.”

Lestrade immediately frowned, “That's just wrong. You'd be breaking the rules.” She answered, crossing her arms. “You don't mess with Christmas rules.”

Mycroft simply stood there, both of them having a staring contest. “Fine.” He answered after a moment or so.

Lestrade just laughed again. Mycroft wondered if she had too much eggnog, though he hadn't seen her drink too much of it. With a sigh, Mycroft leaned forward as Lestrade leaned down. However, Lestrade turned just so and kissed his cheek instead. “Goodnight, Mycroft. Thanks for the ride.”

Mycroft blinked a bit as he watched Lestrade enter her home. He stood there with hands in his pocket, then glared at the mistletoe. “Absolutely silly.” He muttered, walking away, shaking his head.

 

It had been several weeks now, and Mycroft was staring off into the space, which had become a common occurrence since Christmas. Anthea looked at him a bit worriedly. “Are you alright, sir?”

Mycroft blinked, looked to her, then nodded. “Of course. Did you bring the reports?” Anthea laid them down on the desk, cast him a worried look, then walked out. Mycroft hummed a little as he looked over the details, storing everything away into the recess of his mind. Mycroft frowned as he felt his chest constricting in a strange way once more that he didn't really understand. Well, he understood, he just didn't understand _why_.

Every now and then the man had begun to think about Gregg Lestrade, and every time his chest pulled, as if trying to tell him something. He knew what it meant, though he wished he didn't. He'd rather not care at all, so why was he starting to feel something? He frowned, puzzled by his minds turn of thoughts. This wasn't supposed to happen. Feelings were a disadvantage, they could make you weak in an instance.

After debating with himself as he had done every day for the past few weeks, he finally pulled out his blackberry and began to click away with his thumbs.

Would you be interested in dining with me tomorrow for lunch? - MH

Lestrade looked down at her beeping phone as she ate away on a sandwich she had just bought for her lunch break, reading over the message. She reread it several times before typing her answer.

Yes. When and where? - GL

Mycroft was almost startled by how fast she responded. He would have thought she would be busy. He read the message over, skimming.

At 13 hundred. The location is undecided today. I shall tell you tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, inspector. - MH

Lestrade glanced at the message before pocketing her cell, taking another bite of her sandwich. This would be interesting. Different then the time he practically kidnapped her and interrogated her about getting information on Sherlock. She smiled as she remembered that day. It was the one time she allowed herself to slap him across the face, and it had felt rather nice.

 

When the morrow had arrived, both checked for the time constantly throughout the day. Mycroft wasn't nervous, merely curious, of course. Why would he ever be nervous? Lestrade, however, would look at the clock and each time she saw it getting closer to the time, her heart began to beat faster. This was ridiculous, it's just lunch!

 

The time had finally arrived, and Mycroft had sent Lestrade a text to tell her that he was outside waiting for her. They were driven to a restaurant, Mycroft didn't know where to take her, so he simply chose place he knew she would like, Angelo's. He knew she enjoyed the food and had gone with Sherlock a few times when they had all been a few years younger.

They walked in and seated themselves at a table near the window. Both had taken out a menu and began to look over things as Angelo walked over, “Welcome! What's the lovely couple having to drink today?”

Lestrade looked up, blinking, “We're not a couple. And lemonade, please.”

“Strawberry lemonade, please.” Mycroft asked when Angelo looked at him.

Antonia gave a friendly nod before walking away with their order, and allowing them to continue to look at the menu. Lestrade glanced up at Mycroft several times, who had finally put his menu down and stared at her, catching her glancing at him. “Is there something wrong?” He asked, a slight frown on his features.

Lestrade immediately shook her head, “No, not at all. I'm just... wondering why you asked me to lunch, really.” She responded a bit shyly, though her voice never wavered nor showed her uncertainty.

Mycroft stared dead at her, making her squirm almost in her chair with the look he was giving. “I've asked you to lunch because I would enjoy your company, and getting to know you. My goal is to know you eventually on a personal level, if it is to be so.”

Lestrade was almost taken aback. She hadn't quite expected such a straight answer, nor did she really know what to say. After a moment she just smiled at him, honestly, for one of the first times ever because of something he had said. “Alright.” Lestrade smirked a bit and tapped his foot underneath the table with hers.

Mycroft felt himself relax just the slightest bit, his shoulders dropping a little, though it was practically unnoticeable, really. He gave a tiny genuine smile of his own, making Lestrade's smile stretch, “I've never seen you actually smile.” She said with the slightest bit of amusement in her voice, mixed in with a bit of nervous excitement.

Mycroft chuckled, “It's because I never really had a reason to until now. As I've said once before, emotions are a dangerous thing, Lestrade.” He answered readily, his fingers tapping along the menu. “However, I find myself in a bit of a bind with you. I believe this is what you would normally refer to as taking a chance.” He answered honestly. That was not something he typically kept in his repertoire. Honest answers.

Lestrade raised a brow, “Ah, yes, feelings. Such a horrid thing.” She half mocked, before giving a small shrug. “It's human to have them, it's what makes us flawed and interesting, you know. Being a machine is never fun.” She gave him a sheepish grin, “You know, Mycroft, you can call me by my name. You have, after all, basically asked me on a date, mate.” She told him, before looking back down to her menu. She practically had the whole thing memorized, but it gave her something safe to look at. The Holmes were very intense, and sometimes for different reasons, but it was there nonetheless. She didn't quite know what one should do while enjoying a civil lunch with someone like Mycroft, but hopefully she would pick up soon. It wasn't like being around her fellow officers or the few mates she had outside of work, not really.

Mycroft cleared his throat a little, “Apologies, Gregg. I am not used to seeing you outside of handling my dearest brother, in which normally I would not use your first name.” He replied evenly, the tapping on his fingers stilling. “Since you've been here more often than I, perhaps you could recommend something you find pleasant?” He inquired. He knew the typical manners, made sure to use them in his life, but manners you apply to everyone and what you applied to someone you were intrigued by had different rules. It involved more personal questions, or simple questions you did not ask of everyone else. He would learn how to do this. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

Lestrade looked up, lips pressed together as she thought a moment, “Well... I don't know what kinds of food you typically like, but this is an Italian restaurant. So if you like spaghetti, Angelo's is very good.” She answered. “Or if you would like to be a bit more adventurous, the chicken parmigiana is very good.” She supplied with a small smile, teasing. She hadn't an idea what to suggest for someone she didn't know the taste of. “Really, most of the food here is good. If you like it somewhere else, chances are you'll like it here.” She informed him.

Before Mycroft could respond, Angelo approached their table, setting down their drinks in front of them, giving them a big smile. “So, what are we thinking of for lunch?” He asked his customers, waiting patiently.

With a small glance to the menu, Lestrade hummed, “I think I'd like a small bowl of your mushroom risotto today, as well as the pasta carbonara, please.” She asked politely, offering Angelo a small smile before folding up the menu and folding her hands on the table, looking to Mycroft.

With a small frown, Mycroft glanced over the menu once more. “I would be delighted to try your panzenella, and you mushroom risotto as well, please.” He said courteously, folding his menu as well and placing it back into it's spot on the table.

With a small nod, Angelo gave a small soft clap of his hands, “Excellent choices, I'll go and have those started right away for you two.” He said pleasantly, stalking off to the kitchens to put in the orders.

Silence descended onto the table, Lestrade keeping Mycroft's gaze for the most part, occasionally looking away. After a moment she gave a huff, “Honestly, I know this isn't typically something you say on these things, but conversation makes things a bit better usually.” She spoke, leaning forward a bit. “Let's ask some questions, hmm?” She suggested, resting her face on her palm.

With a small nod, Mycroft placed his hands on the table, “Of course.” He complied, leaning forward slightly to meet her, to show that he was interested in this conversation as much as she. “How was your day so far, Gregg?”

Lestrade gave a small laugh, “I thought you might ask something else.” She explained with an amused look. “It's been a bit slow, since we just finished up one of our major cases last week. Right now it's more basic police work than it is investigating. I'm glad though, for the short break. It means there hasn't been many homicides this week.” After a moment, she gave a quieter laugh. “I don't think that's something most people would be okay with hearing about at lunch. Death isn't usually a good food conversation, you know.” It probably was one of the reasons her ex left her and cheated on her, honestly. He said she was always bringing work home with her. What did he expect? She was a cop, through and through.

Mycroft gave a hum in response, “Well, it does not bother me very much, Gregg. I did ask about your day, after all.” He replied easily. With his own work, it wasn't like he had never seen his fair share of messes. Death did not disturb his abilities to eat.

With a small answering hum, Lestrade tilted her head a bit. “Sherlock does this sometimes too, but you do it the most. How come when you're talking you don't use contractions often? Is it one of those feel more intimidating and formal things, or were you raised like that?” She asked.

Mycroft gave a small chortle, his eyes crinkling up a bit. “Oh no, that is definitely not something we were raised with. Mother and father are much more relaxed in their speech patterns. I prefer to stay with formalities, and contractions are something I find I do not often prefer to use. It is not that I cannot use them, or that I was taught not to. Nor even that I use to suggest my wealth or knowledge. I simply prefer not to use them.” He explained, taking a sip of his drink.

Lestrade frowned, “I mean, everyone has their own way of talking, but you're both so formal, of course, Sherlock usually is only like that when he wants to give someone a hard time.”

Mycroft nodded, knowing exactly what she meant with Sherlock. “Why did you take my brother home the first night you met him?” He had wanted to know what made her do it, it was something he never knew the answer to. She didn't just invite drug addicted people into her home with no reason. Sherlock was the only person he was aware of to this day.

Lestrade cracked a smile, “Well, honestly? I just wanted to piss you off.” She answered unapologetic. “You just waltzed in with your card, and acted like that made everything he did okay. You pissed me off. And when he didn't want to leave with you? Well, I had to make sure he was okay, first of all. But knowing it might upset you made it a bit better, too.”

Mycroft furrowed his brows as he processed what she said, frowning. “Ah. First impressions can indeed not put someone in a good light.” He murmured, referencing himself in this situation. “I myself found you very intriguing. You were the only officer who had made things difficult, not simply just listening to what I said. I was annoyed with it initially in the moment; however, after reflecting on the event just moments later, I could not help but be impressed.”

Lestrade gave an easy laugh, “Well, you make it easy to be mad at you sometimes, you know.” After a moment, she smirked. “I've never been sorry about slapping you, you know.” She stated, taking a sip of her drink. “What's your biggest fear? And don't tell me you don't fear anything, Mycroft, everyone fears something.”

Mycroft fixed her with an uneasy look, fingers tapping on the table lightly. “I don't think I find myself wanting to answer that.” He responded, frowning. “Only Sherlock is aware of that, and if he ever does anything with that information, I might have to smack him with my umbrella.” He answered seriously.

A small sigh escaped Lestrade's lips, “I won't force you to answer. Though now I'm curious.” She gave a teasing smirk, “Not something like the dark or clowns, is it?” She ribbed, not expecting to see Mycroft tense as he did when she made mention of clowns. “Oh. Well, nothing to be ashamed of.” She started, “I used to be terrified of cats.” She supplied, giving a small awkward laugh.

Mycroft glanced out a window, before looking back at her. “I do not trust anyone with that information. Please do not let Sherlock know that you are aware. He is relentless over some things.” He said with a small sigh. “I am led to believe a fear of cats is more reasonable than something as silly as a, a clown.”He quipped.

Lestrade gave a small chuckle, “Depends on what the first experience was like, I would think. Still, there's nothing wrong with it, you know. Even the Government is allowed to have fears.” She teased once more. “No point in being morose or ashamed about it.” She said, shrugging it off.

Mycroft offered up an appreciative smile, small as it may have been. Well, typically people would have run with that and have made fun at it, but she hadn't. That was pleasantly surprising, and rather nice. “Thank you.” He finally said out loud. Lestrade nodded at him. Before she could speak, Angelo came back to their table, a tray of food carefully balanced in his hand.

“For the miss.” He said, placing down the dishes in front of Lestrade first, “Be careful, the bowl is a bit hot.” He cautioned, before placing the rest of the food in front of Mycroft, “Like I just said, the bowl is hot, so be careful.” He put the tray under his arm. “Is there anything else I can grab for you two?” He inquired, looking between them.

Shaking her head, Lestrade gave a smile. “I think we're good. Thanks, Angelo. It all looks great, mate.” She answered politely. She waited for Antonio to leave before looking to Mycroft expectantly, “Go on then, try it and tell me if you like it.”

Looking between the two, Mycroft finally decided to go for the soup first, spooning some up and blowing on it before eating it. After a moment, he hummed, “This is rather excellent.” He told her.

She grinned, “Isn't it? I love it.” She began to eat her own food, taking careful bites as not to burn herself.

 

Slowly their lunch progressed, occasional topics like the food and how tiring their jobs could be, and Lestrade making them talk about things they both considered trivial to simply get them out of the way, like favorite colors and such. After all, friends got to know these things about each other, and it wasn't like this had been a business meeting.

The conversation had only smoothed out, the transitions much more natural and less pushed to try to keep it going. Lestrade found that she had actually enjoyed Mycroft's company, and Mycroft hers. As their time ran out, Mycroft had insisted on paying for the whole meal, and offered his arm as he led her to the car to take her back to work.

The conversation stilled a little once they reached the station, both sitting in silence in the car. Lestrade reached for the door handle finally, “Thank you, again. For lunch. It was really nice, Mycroft.” Lestrade said with a small smile, ready to make her exit back to her office to get back to work.

“It was not a problem, Gregg. I immensely enjoyed our time together today.” Mycroft responded, eyes watching her. He simply stared at her as she stared at him.

Lestrade hesitated with the door, turning her body back towards him, “Ask me properly on a date next time and not just a lunch out. I'll still say yes, Mycroft Holmes.” She said, surging forward, only to gently press her lips upon his.

At first, Mycroft stiffened, before relaxing and gently pushing back to meet her with the kiss. When they broke apart, he gave her a genuine smile, “I believe I will have to do just that, Gregg Lestrade.”

Hopping out of the car, Lestrade waved goodbye to Mycroft. “Later, mate.” She smiled, closing the door.

 

 


End file.
